


the less i know the better

by anathemis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apologies, Brotherly Love, Coda, Drabble, Gen, No Slash, No Smut, Post-Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21546382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathemis/pseuds/anathemis
Summary: 'Sam digs a nail into the scarred diner table and drops his fork, looking up, false confidence.Dean stops too, looks at Sam. Expectant."What now?" He finally says, eyes turning down when Dean rolls his eyes as quickly as he says the words."Whaddya mean, what now? We relax, take a break, some us time, y'know?" Dean's voice is gruff. His eyebrows become furrowed again. Okay.'
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Kudos: 19





	the less i know the better

2 days later, they're sat in a gritty diner, 3 miles out from the bunker, the chattering of customers filtering through one ear and out the other.

Neon light from the Budweiser sign dusts along Dean's face, lighting up freckles and green eyes. Green, once black, Sam breathes a sigh of relief. What now, a phrase not passed between them but present in the 3ft gap from their faces nonetheless. What now, Sam thinks, arm still swinging in a sling, elbow aching, Dean teasing about a sprain.

The silence is awkward, impossibly so.

A glass clatters in the kitchen and Sam jumps, busies himself with his untouched salad. Across from him, Dean's finishing his burger, pink lips wet with coffee, brown hair recovering from his demon counterparts "styling monstrosity," as he referred to it, while wielding Sam's paddle brush in one hand and a spritzer bottle in the other. Sam had laughed at him, mirthless.

Sam digs a nail into the scarred diner table and drops his fork, looking up, false confidence.

Dean stops too, looks at Sam. Expectant.

"What now?" He finally says, eyes turning down when Dean rolls his eyes as quickly as he says the words.

"Whaddya mean, what now? We relax, take a break, some us time, y'know?" Dean's voice is gruff. His eyebrows become furrowed again. Okay.

"Okay," Sam says, leaning back into the less-than-soft padding of the bench, picking up his fork again. The air is easier to breathe further away, less stifled, less... Dean. Okay.

An hour later, Dean misses the turning for the road to the bunker and Sam doesn't speak. Neither does Dean.

The highway turns into dirt track and somewhere along it, Sam falls asleep. Like the good old days, he thinks, bitter. He never once questions where Dean is taking them.

Some insignificant number of hours later, he is awoken by a burning hand on his upper arm. As quickly as he notices it, it leaves, returning to the body that owns it. He hears the car door shut and sits up, eyes sticky and mind foggy. There's a drizzle outside. The window steams. His breath lingers in the air.

He pulls the flannel tighter around his body and gets out of the car, looking around.

They're beside a lake, thick and black. Mountains everywhere.

Must be pretty high up, Sam notes, the air thinning here. Dean is stood a few feet away on a dock. The wood is rotting, algae blanketing, water sloshing on it every now and then.

He approaches him, muscles tugging and aching in his body. "Too old," he mutters, too old to be sleeping in a car like he did when he was 11. Too old to still be doing this shit, over and over. His elbow still hurts.

The dock creaks under his feet. He can see fish in the water, golden and glinting in the meager sun breaking through the thick clouds.

The silence isn't awkward this time, but it feels important. Dean's eyes are still bright green against white sclera.

"I'm sorry," Dean says, quiet, only meant for one other to hear.

Sam nods. Leans closer. Fabric rustles against Dean's jacket.

"Should've been more... careful."

"Dean-"

"Don't, Sam. Not this time. I made a mistake and it cost people their lives. Should've never trusted Crowley. Should've asked you before I got the Mark. Should've done a lot of things."

Sam just nodded again. "Okay. It's okay, Dean."

"No, it's not, Sam! I almost bashed your head in with a hammer! I remember the things I was saying, okay? Just know I didn't mean them. I didn't."

Sam reaches a hand out, grasps soft material, hand tightening in fear and desperation.

No more words were said. Nothing else needed to be said.

Dean nodded too, pats Sam's hand, calloused skin brushing the soft back and hard knuckles.

He turned away, leaving Sam on the dock, fighting through the thick grass and mud to Baby.

Sam looks to the lake, smiles, gentle and knowing. Elbow aching but heart soaring, he laughs at the folding chairs that Dean holds when he returns - "shurrup, Sammy," makes him laugh harder. Red blush against pale skin and tiny freckles.

He balances the chairs between the planks on the dock, sitting down in one and then patting the other. Sam sits down.

Dean's eyes are lighter than they've been in weeks. Sam doesn't need to look for any lingering blackness in them anymore.

They'll be okay. Yeah. They'll be good.

**Author's Note:**

> a small drabble i wrote because i couldn't get it outta my head. here ya go. :)
> 
> title from: 'The Less I Know The Better' by Tame Impala, which i listened to while writing it.


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